Michael Whittaker was recommended to me because he was instrumental in starting fashion shows in England and offered me a gig on a cat walk for a leading French designer.I hated every step. I was asked several more times, but didn’t need money enough to suffer again.
Sometime later, Michael introduced me to a new model, who was contracted to a film studio and considered to be an up and coming movie star. Her name was Eve Lucet. I had rarely met such a beautiful girl but, unlike some models, I could name, she was completely down to earth. I was in love, but then so was every man who met her!
I didn’t think I stood a chance, but we were friendly and had many cappuccinos together. She finally met and married a successful businessman. They bought a house in St. Johns Wood and adopted two boys.
Everything was fine for a couple of years. Then one evening, she phoned me and asked me to go to her house. She sounded very worried, so I hurried over to be greeted at the door by floods of tears and a desperate woman. Her marriage was on the rocks and she was about to lose her two boys.
I don’t know the details of their marriage, but one thing I am certain about is that she didn’t deserve to be hurt in this way. They also owned what I can only describe as a mansion near Henley-on-Thames. I spent many happy weekends at the house. In spite of being one of the most beautiful women in the world and living in millionaire splendour, she was really ‘one of the boys’.
I remember she had a beautiful mink coat which she never wore when we went to dinner because neither of us approved of killing animals to show off.
Fortunately, she agreed with me and she used the mink coat as a bed cover in the winter and spent most of its time on the floor of her bedroom. The cost of this coat could feed half of Africa! It’s about time the Queen came to her senses and banned the use of bear skin for hats. Faux is fine.
One day, Eve gave me a beautiful limited-edition print of the exhibition of the Royal Academy 1787 − which hangs on my wall to this day. She said it was a thank you for the support I’d given her in a very rough period in her life.
After a while we drifted apart and got on with our lives. A year or two later she phoned me and invited me for a drink at her house just off Sloane Square. I was shocked when she opened the door; she was pale and nervous. She had lost that amazing sparkle. I sat down with my drink and we chatted for about half an hour when I heard the front door open. To my surprise, a uniformed local policeman walked in, went straight to the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of champagne from the fridge. I felt very uncomfortable, I was sure he was taking advantage of someone who now seemed to have lost her confidence. There was nothing I could do, so I left feeling very sad for one of the most natural people I’d ever known.
A few years later, I was in a taxi stuck in a traffic jam on West End Lane. I happened to glance out of the window and saw a dishevelled person carrying a couple of shopping bags. As she got closer, I looked at her face. Her eyes were vacant, her hair was greasy and she looked hopeless and helpless as she shuffled along. As we moved off in the traffic, I opened the window and looked closer.
There was no sign of recognition in her face, but I was fairly sure it was Eve. I said her name and smiled and told her my name, but no response. I looked through the rear window, feeling helpless. The thought that it was probably Eve still makes me very sad. She was a very special person, not just for her looks, but because she was generous, and had a lovely attitude to life.
I don’t know what happened to her adopted sons, but they will never know what they missed.